Family Tree
by illuminatachime
Summary: I am no Saint. I am not a white knight, she thought in anguish. I am not an avenging angel; I am a mercenary. I am an Argent. And I do what I can.


The woods smelled musky, even though the night's air was clear. Her hands shook with both fear and anger for herself and what she'd done. The petulance came from the fact that she'd achieved what she'd wanted to become – _strong_ – but now all she saw herself as was a hateful person who'd showed no mercy to people she'd once thought of as friends. The bête noire was the other half of that coin. The side that she hid away, placed face-down in order to appear incessantly strong.

She was not a weak little girly girl anymore. Allison had grown up – unbelievably so. And now, everyone knew it. Everyone knew that she was a grown-up, tough-talking monster who'd lost her mother, challenged her father, obeyed her _grandfather_ and dumped the _one thing_ that made her feel safe. Allison knew these were all wrong things. This wasn't how she'd wanted it to be – she'd wanted it to be _okay._ Sure, she was angry with her parents for keeping her heritage from her, but now, as she stalked through the woods at night, waiting for her wolves, Allison wondered: if she could choose not to know, not to _be_ what she was, would she?

She was proud of the fact that she had indeed achieved tenacity, but still – her stomach still twisted around the figurative arrows she'd lodged there herself. Fortitude had nothing on the fact that she felt _awful._ Was this how it was for her father, and his father before him? Did her grandfather become so tainted inside that, over the years, he'd grown into the corrupted being he was now? And her father – her wonderful father, who'd tried to protect her for so long – what about him? Did he feel this way? Did he make these sacrifices?

Of course. Of course he did; he'd lost her mother, his _wife,_ to a werewolf's bite. For Derek, it'd been Scott or Allison's mother, and of course, Derek had chosen Scott, his ally, over the lady who wanted to kill them both. Allison understood that, but what she was afraid of – what made her _furious_ with herself – was that when she asked herself the same question, Mom or Scott, who would she have chosen? Who would she have let die?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to pretend that her father was close by; that she wasn't all alone out in the dark woods, waiting for some werewolf to run by so she could take out her abhorrence on the poor creature. She wasn't Little Red Riding Hood, she wouldn't fall prey to the evil Wolf for her lack of security and her notorious naiveté – no, she was not a storybook child. She was real and alive and a _hunter,_ and she'd lost all innocence. She was in despair; she was depraved.

She just wanted to hurt Derek. Derek and his pack of misfit, sob-story pity-parties that only cared about leather jackets and opposing Scott. _Screw_ the righteousness of Derek Hale rescuing Scott, who'd almost been killed by her _mother._ Her grandfather had said that her first loyalty was to her family, and Allison had honored that when she'd chosen to shoot her arrows at Boyd and Erica, the _baby_ werewolves who'd run from the fight like cowards.

_I am no Saint. I am not a white knight,_ she thought in anguish. _I am not an avenging angel; I am a _mercenary._ I am an _Argent._ And I do what I can. _

Her bow was heavy on her back, and her canister of wolfsbane arrows tapped against it sometimes. She kept walking until she got to the heart of the woods, shadowy and enigmatic, and this was where she waited. Allison could hear her heart beating if she tried – it was fast, energized; she was ready for the hunt.

She knew the risk, but she would stay out 'til dawn – it wasn't like she could bring herself to go home. Her duty was to be loyal to her family, but in the end, she'd betrayed her father. And it made her sick that she'd hurt the only person she had left. The only _true_ family.

It was a full moon – if Derek's pack had abandoned him, they'd be without a master's help, wreaking havoc through the trees of Beacon Hills. Plus there was Jackson – the newly-changed werewolf – he was also on the loose. Allison missed the days of old, where she could hang out with Lydia or Scott and feel weightless, unknowing of Scott's secret, and before Lydia was traumatized by Peter Hale, Derek's uncle.

The moon was silver-bright and luminescent against the midnight blue of the sky, but no moonbeams made it past the thick, dark leaves of the tree branches overhead. And that made the woods as black and wicked as Allison's sunless and hazardous heart. _Synonyms will be synonyms,_ she figured.

She hadn't asked for this. She hadn't asked for all this deception and hypocrisy; this circumvention, jeopardy, and confusion. The commotion that was her daily life was almost too much to bear. _No one would,_ she thought. _It's too painful._

And somehow still, she was stuck in the middle of all the pandemonium, neither a friend nor a foe, with no allies, just enemies; the third-party tiebreaker and her bruised, broken family. It was deplorable but it was real – this never-ending story of hate and misrule was not a fairy tale.

_Yet I've managed to claw my way right into the center of it,_ she thought bitterly. She had once hoped to find the heart of the problem and rip it right out, but that wasn't the case anymore. The only thing she'd gotten out of it was numbness, death, and destruction.

She would never be able to fully trust anyone again – not after Kate, not after her grandfather. It was her screwy lineage that came with both the blessing of security and the curse of depravity. And somehow, love still found its way to her, through the atrociousness of her relatives' deeds. She hated them but she loved them; one did not and could not cancel out the other.

Allison was left with so many worries and questions, but now she had no one to turn to – no one except the two men who had helped her to become this way. She was so, so frightened of becoming like her heinous, vitiated grandfather, who'd only wanted the kanima for himself. _He _used _his own family, _she remembered in disgust.

She wanted to be a thousand miles away. She wanted to run and hide and forget everything that had happened recently. It all had gone down so quickly that she was still catching her breath. Her mother was_ gone_ and she couldn't trust her own blood relatives. All she had was her father, and she'd given him hell. Allison couldn't remember when she'd last felt okay.

_When I'm not doing this, I'm afraid. I'll never stop being afraid,_ she thought. _And that's the one thing I've always wanted to overcome. But I can't. No one can – not Dad, not my grandfather. They're scared. Look at Grandpa – that fright made him corrupt himself._

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and tried to block out her thoughts. Focusing on her surroundings, she felt the cool breeze of the night lift a few strands of her hair. She heard leaves rustle in the trees and smelled the smell of spring.

_I don't want to be like Grandpa. I don't even want to be like Dad. I just want to forget, but I can't._ Biting back tears, she chastised herself for being so girlish. _Be brave, Allison Argent. It's the only way to be in this world. In this family._

She didn't want to bear their legacy. Their bloodline, their gift of werewolf knowledge and hunting skills; all she wanted was to be left _alone._ These things that her father, and his father had handed down – the family name and tradition – she wanted to renounce them all, dye her hair, and run away.

_But I have to stay. For Dad and for Scott, I have to stay._

This was too much obligation to be put on such a young girl, she knew. She couldn't carry the weight of her family on her own thin shoulders. What would happen when she was left alone? Warriors never lived long lives unless they were cowards, and Allison would not be a coward.

But she would be lonely; incredibly so. The truth of her ancestry had already cost her the stability of seven relationships – Scott, her mother, her father, her grandfather, Kate, Lydia, and even Stiles – and Allison knew that the list would only grow.

It was an impossible decision: Abandon those she loved for her freedom, or fall slave to her family tree? The very same people. Run, and be called a coward for generations, or stay and die young and alone. She'd already been consumed by her hatred, and it had been ugly.

_I believe that I can control my fate, destiny…whatever it's called. But I'm not sure that it's in my power to change what's already set in stone. Sure, I can be righteous, and I can be cowardly. No matter which way I go, everything will always lead back here; lead back to the Argents. _Swallowing, she felt a presence behind her, and swerved in record time, drawing her bow and holding an arrow aloft against the quiver.

"Show yourself," she ordered, but nothing changed. She reached out with her trained senses, feeling around trees and bushes for the one thing that she was here for…_werewolf. _Shaking her head, she tried to focus._ I'm trying not to let my past rule me. _Hesitantly, she called, "…Scott?"

And he stepped out from behind the closest tree, dodging the arrow that she flung at him out of being startled. He smiled cautiously, raising his hands to show her that there were no claws; that he was in complete control of his wolf.

For some reason, it was both relieving and frightening. And Allison didn't know what to say as she dropped her arms, allowing her bow to hang limply in her hand. Staring at Scott in the darkness, she gulped audibly. "Scott," she mumbled, glancing around to see if her father or any of his friends were nearby.

There was no one.

Sighing, she dropped her weapons completely and stepped towards the werewolf, towards the boy, towards the person she was in love with. Wrapping her arms around him and holding his head to her neck like he was a small child, she said, "I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Well, I'm here," he replied after a moment, uncertainly wrapping his arms around her waist. "Let's talk." She felt him breathe in and out, taking in her scent, and tried not to grin.

Everything was so grim and so bleary lately; and she was so, so nervous. "I don't know what I want to talk about," she said quietly. "I just know that I've missed it."

"It's not like you don't know where to find me, Allison," he told her, and hearing her name cross his lips felt like satin on her soul.

"I know, I know," she murmured, shushing him. "It's just that…I'm so _scared._ About everything; about now and what comes next, you know? And I just…I just wanted to talk to you."

He kissed her neck, then her ear, and then her cheek ever-so-softly. "I'll always be here for you," he reminded her. "You know that."

"I'm trapped, Scott," she whispered hoarsely against his shoulder as she allowed him to clutch her to his chest. "My dad…my grandpa…"

"You don't have to listen to them. You can leave."

"But I don't want to. I c-can't leave my dad. I love him, a-and he's lost my mom and Kate so recently, and now my grandfather's gone nuts…he's more alone than I am, and I can't leave him. I love him too much." Although her breath hitched here and there, Allison didn't cry. She'd toughened herself up that much.

But there was still no pride.

Scott took her face in his hands and held it up so that she would look him in the eye; she studied his dark eyebrows and lashes and his adorable mouth until he said, "Allison, _you are not_ who your family is. And what they've done, what they've influenced you to do…it doesn't _define_ you."

"I miss you," was all she could say in reply. Standing on her toes, she pressed a quaint, chaste kiss to his lips and re-nestled her head back into the crook of his neck. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you too," he replied, chuckling once.

Suddenly, there was a shout in the distance; audible to both of them. They startled, turning towards the sound with wild eyes. Allison's heart thudded against her chest. "You should go," she said. "Before they get too close."

"Okay," he agreed, turning from staring out in the distance to give her a reassuring smile. Catching her hand in his, he said, "I love you, Allison."

Swallowing around the lump of tears in her throat, she replied, "I love you too, Scott." She bent down to scoop up her weapons, getting them ready to aim, then fire.

And as she watched him leap away, coalescing into the blackness of the night, she waited for her father to come. She waited for him to come and tell her it was time to go _home;_ time to stop hunting and just be a _family_ again.

But in that in-between moment, that constant in-between moment where Scott would exit and her father would enter, she felt the one thing she always felt. She _was_ the one thing she always was, without them. For a day, or an hour, or just a split second; the time limit didn't matter. It just did its damage time and time again, and she couldn't do anything to stop it. She couldn't stop herself from being the way she was born to be; being the way her father had made her to be; being the way that she _had_ to be, if she wanted to keep both him and Scott.

Allison Argent was alone.


End file.
